Just Right
by Phoenix Writer1
Summary: Why is Ginny in the library, alone, on a lovely evening? Why is she agreeing to spend her last Hogsmeade weekend with a pregnant cat? Why is she eating enough chocolate to take care of dementors for miles around? Why did her feet just disappear? Never min


**Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even Piddyfoot. All things related to Harry Potter are the creation and property of JK Rowling. This story is for entertainment purposes only.**

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**Author's Notes: Many thanks to Greenfairy of Doom for beta-ing this for me. My best love also to MaeGunn Batt for all her help. **

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**Just Right**

Right. Well, I've got to say I've had about enough of this. I'm beginning to think my twin brothers, completely barking though they may be, had the right idea on this whole NEWT preparation thing. Skip it. Just give it all a miss and go have some fun. But just as I get ready to feed all my books to Hagrid's Puffskein, I can see my mum and dad and the looks on their faces. I always end up back in the library. I'm a pushover when they do the sad puppy eyes.  
  
And this would be why I am sitting in the library on a lovely spring evening. I don't dare look out the window because there is sure to be a parade of happy couples wandering along the lake. That would be the final blow, really. If I could just chuck all this, I could be with him. Of course, he'd give me the sad puppy eyes, too, and I can't stand that. Yes, however hardboiled and sensible I manage to appear to the world, big, sad, green puppy eyes are my downfall. It makes me want to sigh and be sick at the same time. Honestly, it is so medieval.  
  
"Ginny? Are you in here?"  
  
How guilty would I feel if I didn't answer? "NO!" Yeah, that was a good answer.  
  
Amanda Perkins is a lovely girl and a brilliant dormmate, but if she has any sense at all, she'll hear my tone and go the other way.  
  
"Oh, there you are, Gin. Good."  
  
Rats.  
  
"Look, Gin, I was wondering if you'd do me a favor." Ohhh... I can feel my eyes starting to roll into the back of my head. Here is comes... Wait for it... "Since Harry isn't able to meet you in Hogsmeade this weekend, I wondered if you were planning to go. If not, would you mind..."  
  
Oh no. Please, Manda. Please tell me you are kidding. Please don't ask me to sit with your so-pregnant-it-is-about-to-burst cat.  
  
"...watching Piddyfoot for me? I wouldn't bother you, only she's nearly ready to have her kittens."  
  
Did I mention, RATS? And can someone please tell me why an otherwise sane person would name their cat "Piddyfoot"? Disgusting.  
  
Wait. Did I just think that? When did I turn into Snape? Well, only one cure for that...  
  
"Sure, Manda. Don't worry about her. I'll stay with Piddy."  
  
I am such a milquetoast.  
  
"Thanks, Gin. You're a mate." Thank goodness she's leaving. If I have to hold my tongue any longer I think it will pop out my ear. She's going, she's going... she's turning back? "Oh, before I forget - Piddyfoot has chosen a really nice little corner by the fireplace in the common room. She doesn't seem to want to leave it, so you'll have to stay there with her."  
  
Swell.  
  
"Ginny, is anything wrong? You seem, I don't know, tense or something."  
  
Tense. Tense! Why in the world would I be TENSE? We are two weeks from our NEWT exams, three weeks from the absolute end of our school years, and I haven't seen my boyfriend in seven weeks, five days, three hours, and sixteen minutes (not that I am counting, mind). What could possibly make me tense?  
  
"I'm fine. Just a little tired. All this revision and all..." Liar.  
  
Well, at least she's satisfied and gone. What in the world is wrong with me, anyway? I mean, yes, NEWTs are enough to make anyone barmy, but I didn't fall apart over my OWLs. True, I haven't a clue what to do with myself after school. Though, really, I do have those two offers upstairs in my trunk. It isn't a bad thing to have to choose between a good job on staff in the purchasing department of Flourish and Blotts and a good job in the Department of Magical Records at the Ministry. That can't be what is bothering me. And I'll hex anyone who suggests I'm pining for Harry. If I'm not used to waiting for that boy by now, I never will be. No, it can't be any one of those things. But, it could be all of them. I mean, that is a lot to heap on a person, you know? Great. Now, I'm feeling completely sorry for myself.  
  
Right. Chocolate it is, then.  
  
Thank goodness for the house elves. I'm not in the kitchen thirty seconds before I am seated at a huge butcher block table with a slice of double fudge cake bigger than Dobby's head. I'd ponder my current state of irritability, but honestly, I don't think I can dwell on unpleasantness with this much chocolate before me, calling to me to consume it.  
  
Having beguiled my inner whiner with enough sweets to make all of Gryffindor tower ill, I think I am ready to face the crowd in the common room. I think I'll give over the studying this evening and write to Mum. Once I've done my daughterly duty, I might even write to Harry. Oh, and I really should write to Hermione. I have two unanswered owls from her on my nightstand. That really isn't nice of me. Okay, so I'll write to Hermione, then Mum, and then to Harry. With any luck, I won't have to do the civil all evening. Everyone will be too caught up in plans for the last Hogsmeade weekend.  
  
"Butterfly kisses." Merlin, who comes up with these passwords, anyway?  
  
"Right you are, deary. Oh, and if you don't mind my saying so, you look a little peaky, luv. Everything alright with Harry?"  
  
Oh, this I simply do not need. I do not need advice for the lovelorn from a portrait. Why does she assume I suffer love, er, lornity...whatever, in the first place? Why is it anybody's bloody business?  
  
"Oh, no. Thank you. I mean, everything is fine. Harry's fine. I've just been revising a lot lately. NEWTs, you know..."  
  
Good. She's satisfied. It is wretched around here when Fat Lady gets her feelings hurt. I know I'm being horrible and she's actually quite a lovely person to talk to once in awhile. I just don't feel in the mood, right now.  
  
Looking around the common room, I am relieved to see fewer people than I expected. I guess lots of them are still out enjoying the evening. After a quick trip upstairs for my quill, ink and paper, I'm even able to get a table near the window. A letter to Hermione is quickly written, but I know it isn't what she is hoping for. She was full of news about her new flat and her big plans for a trip that she'd like Ron, Harry and me to take with her over the summer. Normally, I'd be very much excited, but right now, nothing seems to catch my fancy as it usually does.  
  
Oh, now that is just sappy sounding. I sound like a ruddy cheap parchment covered romance novel...  
  
Our heroine, her wavy tresses falling in rich waves over her shoulders, sighed deeply. "I just don't seem to feel as I should..."  
  
Honestly. If the twins saw me like this, I'd be sporting feathers and purple freckles for a month at least.  
  
Right. I should write Mum and Harry, but since I'm stuck in the common room with Piddyfoot all day tomorrow, I can write then. There won't be anyone around to bother me. I still don't know how the lower years convinced McGonagall to let them have a picnic by the lake since they can't go to Hogsmeade. She must be going soft. At least it means I'll have plenty of quiet for letter writing and revising. For now, I am exercising my right to control my destiny and put an end to this miserable day by going to bed.  
  
Ohhh... morning already? Blast. Whoever said that things look brighter in the morning is either a raving lunatic or is referring to the overabundance of sunshine. You'd think in a castle this thick in magic, there'd be a way to block some of the sun. Oh well. I am hungry, anyway. And, I'll get first turn in the showers. Hmmm... and what to wear? These track pants were Bill's about 12 years ago. They are huge on me but so comfortable. Eh, no one to see me but Piddyfoot, so what difference does it make? Except for breakfast, I'll be alone for the day.  
  
Odd to see how many people aren't even bothering with breakfast. Oh yeah. I nearly forgot about the amazing brunch at The Three Broomsticks today for the end of term. Yes, I'd forgotten about that. I'm almost sorry to be missing that, but Harry and I had planned to go together. He missed the brunch last year when he graduated, what with being in hospital after defeating Voldemort and all. I just couldn't go without him again. So, it is off to the common room and the near-to-bursting cat for me.  
  
"Hey, Gin! Aren't you coming?"  
  
Blast. That seems to be the ten thousand galleon question of the day around here. What? Am I wearing a sandwich board that says, "I am pathetic. Please point me out and make sure everyone takes notice of my pitiful state" ?  
  
"Not today, thanks. Too much revision. Tell me about it when you get back." Merlin, that is a lame answer. I should have skipped breakfast and stayed in the tower.  
  
Once again settled in the common room, this time in on a lumpy couch by the fire, writing to Mum and Harry has become a near impossibility. The view from the window is gorgeous and only reminds me I am stuck here. Whatever made me think I'd be happier once I was alone? Okay. Not alone. After all, I do have Piddyfoot.  
  
That has to be the most dismal statement yet. I have now reached an all time low. Go me.  
  
I'm beginning to doze when Piddyfoot stirs on her cushion in the corner. Just that little movement in the stillness and I jump about a mile. If that miserable cat starts squeezing out kittens now, that will just cap the whole experience, you know? Hey! Is that my jumper she's laying on? Where did she get that?  
  
I push myself to a sitting position, planning on getting up to retrieve my jumper, but stop, staring at my feet. Rather, staring at where my feet should be. Because, they aren't there any longer. That is, they aren't visible there. I can feel them, but they are just gone from the ankle down. I can definitely feel them as they are being rubbed by some very talented hands. Now, I am grinning for I know those hands. I don't know how he got here, but that is Harry and his invisibility cloak. I should yank it off and give him a talking to about scaring me silly, but I must admit, this is more fun. I watch in amusement as my legs disappear gradually and the hands move from my feet to my legs. Then my hands disappear where they lay on the couch beside me and those wonderful hands slide around my waist. He is still absolutely silent, so there must be an Imperturbable charm on the cloak.  
  
I can't take it any longer and with a swift movement, flick the cloak off Harry's head and shoulders. I'm all ready for that tongue lashing, but the sight of Harry's smile, flushed cheeks and hair even messier than usual from the cloak, and I lose all power to speak.  
  
Eh, speaking is overrated. Snogging is much more to the purpose.  
  
Now, I would never have guessed that I could go so long without breathing before. If I were of a truly curious disposition, I'd run some experiments to see how long I can actually go without taking a breath that isn't at least half Harry's air. Well, part of a Hogwarts education is to awaken the thirst for knowledge, is it not? Right. Testing it is, then.  
  
It is late in the afternoon when people start filtering back into Gryffindor tower. Mercifully, Piddyfoot waited to deliver her kittens until Amanda had returned. Not so mercifully, she couldn't be persuaded to give up my jumper and after this experience, I doubt I will want it back anymore. It really doesn't matter now. I still have NEWTs hanging over me and job offers to consider and Harry is much too far away much too much of the time, but for the first time in a long time, it is okay.  
  
After I'd run all the snog-instead-of-breathe experiments either of us could stand and Harry had told me all about the plot to surprise me (I didn't even want to know how he got McGonagall to go along, but that explains the picnic), that blessed boy sat on the floor facing the couch where I was and just listened. Really listened. I talked, steady on, for nearly an hour pouring out every gripe, fear and hope I've had for the last seven years. I know I repeated myself enough to drive anyone raving, but he never interrupted. Just listened. When I was finally able to stop, I felt better. Like I was back in my own skin again.  
  
And everything is just right. 


End file.
